Another Jewish New Year

In the pea patch gardens
blossoms tilt. Dahlias,
statice, sunflower,
the brightest things
hang like smoke over a bog.
I walk my dysphoria
on a leash,
notice that poplars
etch a cobalt sky.
Ferns are zinc and don’t love
the wetness they contain.
Copper has a taste
when I bite my pennies.